Black and White
by QueenOfCitrus
Summary: *Sequel to 'Iridescent'* IchiHitsu: Met Toushiro? Nasty tongue. Even nastier temper. And he's the media's favourite scandal on legs. Remember Ichigo? Everybody knows he's too good for that white-haired lover of his…
1. Chapter 1

**_A/N: So, there is a lot that needs to happen in this story so I felt that for it to run smoothly, it needs an intro. So there you go, a relatively short intro, which, I hope, you enjoy despite the fact that not much happens in it. Bear with me, it'll get more dramatic later. XD _**

**_So, here you go, the _**_sequel of 'Iridescent'_**_, named...  
_**

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Black-and-White

Chapter 1

_Intro_

"_Toushiro, I'm getting on the plane… Do me a favor and let some oxygen into the apartment before I get there, will you?"_

"Hey, who says the place isn't well aerated 24/7?" Hitsugaya grumbled into the speaker, balancing the mobile phone between his chin and shoulder as he jostled the window with his elbow, trying to get it to open up for him, nice and wide. "What do you think our little _love-nest_ looks like while you're gone?"

"_Like a chimney._"

"Rude," Toushiro managed with a huff, trying not to breathe too harshly into the device as he put a little more pressure on the handle and the frame. "No more bondage sex for you, Mister, not with that insignificant level of trust that you're displaying right now."

"_You're battling the window, aren't you?_" Ichigo deducted in a flat voice.

"No," the boy objected sullenly, biting his lower lip to contain a victorious '_Not anymore_!' when the window gave in and opened with a deafening crack. "That's just the neighbor above us, shooting pigeons again."

"_We live on the last floor, Toushiro_."

"Are you trying to play smart or something?" Hitsugaya snapped, watching somewhat incredulously as a cloud of dust and cigarette smoke slowly leaked from the room into the open. Huh. Who would've thought.

"_One of these days you're gonna suffocate in your sleep and you'll have no one to blame but yourself._"

"I don't think I'll be complaining once I pop off." Making a face, Toushiro leaned over the frame, contemplating with a frown the busy traffic that was bustling on the street beneath and the crowds of people, struggling to pass each other without tripping or pushing anyone in their track. Big city, thin patience… He had learned that the hard way a couple of months ago. "Did you get me anything?"

Ichigo made a dramatic noise into the phone, something that was probably meant to sound like a slap on the forehead echoing along with a terrified gasp and the very distinct sound of an airport loudspeaker. Toushiro had to bite his lower lip to keep himself from chuckling as he picked up an old magazine and dutifully began waving it back and forth from the room and out, making some miserable attempt to aid the ventilation of the premises.

"_I completely forgot! I'm so sorry! Do you think we can work that out if I buy takeaway on my way here?_"

Hitsugaya leaned back against the window frame, sliding down a little as he muttered into the phone in his lowest, most decadent voice.

"Is it sexy?"

"_You're gonna love it_," the carrot-top replied with a chuckle, his voice sounding a bit muffled for a second as though he had separated the phone from his mouth to look at something else. "_I have to go now. See you soon, okay?_"

"Yeah…" Toushiro muttered, a bit more dreamily that what he intended. His boyfriend obviously caught on the tone, because he laughed again, saying something about not being able to wait for the welcoming kisses. The admission had Hitsugaya snapping out of his daze with a gasp, and he straightened up abruptly, cheeks flushing with colour as he suddenly found himself in a struggle to make his tongue work. "W-wait! Lo-"

_Beeeep._

"-ve you. _Dammit_!" glaring nocuously at the mobile phone, Toushiro tried to keep himself from cursing and throwing the device at the wall. It wouldn't do him any good anyways… It was his own fucking fault that he couldn't say it in person... That he couldn't be the initiator – _for once_ – and make his feelings known when stupid, absent-minded Ichigo didn't seem to have any urges to say the 'l'-word even after all this time that they had been together.

If someone had told Toushiro a year and a half ago, that he would leave his home town behind along with his friends and his cousin to chase vague dreams and even vaguer future with a man who he barely knew, the white-haired lad would've probably laughed in the idiot's face and offered him a cigarette as a reward for being so amusing. Now that he had a more sober view on what had happened, Hitsugaya had to admit to himself that when Ichigo had offered him to come to the big city and give fate another chance, the change had been exactly what the boy had needed to get back on his feet. The fresh start had been difficult, all the more because he was still frightened and insecure about his relationship with the carrot-top, but irritating, caring, _patient_ Kurosaki had been there every step of the way, supporting him and pulling him back up every time he reeled and tripped.

For the better part of the first two months, there was practically nothing that the boy could do but stay at Ichigo's place and browse job and apartment announcements and refuse to unpack completely, mostly in spite of the orange-haired model's constant nagging to relax and stop worrying so much. The strawberry wouldn't let him take up any work such as shop assistant or a waiter, and Toushiro hardly had the qualification for anything else, so they spent endless hours fighting over whether Kurosaki could, should or needed to look after his boyfriend rather than having Hitsugaya spending his time in a supermarket as a cashier or cleaning floors and windows in some business building. It was near the time when the boy had almost given up on struggling anymore and decided to go back to his granny's house (where at least he wouldn't have to argue over every ad because of Ichigo's absurd ideas of care), when Kyouraku called on the phone with the news that he had obviously bought and arranged for the old construction site outside Karakura to be turned into the eccentric gallery that Toushiro had always wished for it to become. Hitsugaya almost strangled his boyfriend upon realizing that the carrot-top had so persistently kept him away not only from starting any job but also from going back to his hometown for the sole reason of giving time for the manager to complete the project, and with that – the place where the pig-headed lad could finally let his imagination loose. After an hour of screaming and throwing random objects at the half-amused, half-worried Ichigo, Toushiro had (a bit overdramatically) locked himself in the room where he had all his things tossed around in suitcases and packages, and had only come out late in the evening to pull his lover into a long, sweet kiss that had gradually turned into a lot more than just an innocent lip-lock…

The next few months Hitsugaya was engaged mainly in travelling back and forth between town and city to paint, meet with Momo, Matsumoto, Renji and Rukia (the last two had recently become an item) and then back to Kurosaki's ever-welcoming arms. Ichigo didn't complain about the wait, for he was himself rather busy with his own job, and so things worked out surprisingly smoothly till the place, in which Kyouraku had invested so much, was finally finished. Toushiro hadn't really expected to see the project gain much popularity even after all the efforts that had been put into it – personally, he would've participated even without the large salary that he had initially tried to deny – but what the artist hadn't taken into account (and what his manager had obviously thought of ahead), was that there was no such thing as bad advertising. The young Hitsugaya's name might've been the object of just as much negative as positive gossip after the article that described the actual events from the lawsuit from over three years ago, but it wasn't the difference in the opinions that really mattered, it was the presence of such opinions at all that set all the right wheels in motion. He was hated, reproached, loved, admired, resented and adored altogether, and that, as strange as it sounded, was the perfect recipe for a grand breakthrough.

Toushiro didn't even know what had hit him when his grumpy pictures – often accompanied by his manager's dazzling grins and his boyfriend's glamorous magazine photos – littered the front pages of every paper and tabloid he could think of. The maze gallery sprouted and blossomed into a huge success in no time whatsoever and as soon as Hitsugaya came back to the city, he was swarmed with interview invitations, job propositions, phone calls and a lot of other such things that sincerely freaked him out and made him disconnect from the world for the next three days. Luckily, Kyouraku seemed to know what to do in such predicaments and he took it upon himself to sort through the garbage and pick out only the few good offers that could lead to a potential benefit. Toushiro's relationship with Ichigo didn't help to calm down the spirits and to the boy's horror, he found himself in the eye of the public long before he was ready to deal with the attention. To preserve his own mental health, he gave up on reading any newspapers or magazines that could somehow connect to gossip and intrigue, and to his surprise, the strategy worked wonders for him. He refused to be guest in any talk shows and anything else that was airing and could therefore put him in a situation where he wouldn't know how to react, and although Kyouraku wasn't happy with the decision, he was decent enough to honour it.

A few occasions later, a couple of extravagant paintings in random galleries and several graffiti works, and Toushiro found himself with much more money than he could possibly spend. They kept piling up, and even after he sent a good amount of it to Momo and Matsumoto and used up as much as he could on renovating his wardrobe, there was still plenty to go. So, after a lot of musing and several long talks with his cousin, Toushiro decided to invest into an apartment.

He bought a flat in a calm neighbor about six blocks away from where he was currently residing, furnished the place according to his own peculiar taste, bitched a lot about the hundreds of things he still didn't like, and then eventually continued living at Ichigo's place, with just a few boxes transferred to his official abode. The idea suited the taller male just fine, for he had voiced his unfavorable opinion about Toushiro's intentions to have his own house on many an occasion, and having his complaints silently respected seemed as enough of a prize for him. The two of them appeared to be co-habituating quite well together, with Hitsugaya having his own room to stock all the garbage he couldn't fit in Kurosaki's one, and the boy sharing the carrot-top's bed and the rest of the apartment, including the vast, usually well-ordered living room…

_Usually_ well-ordered living room, because right now it looked like it had survived a war and then been gifted to a tribe of hippies as a bribe for their good behavior.

"Oh, God…" leaning back against the frame of the opened window, Toushiro closed his eyes and took a deep breath in. He held like that for a few short seconds and then exhaled, lifting his eyelids, only to discover with a loud groan that the terrible scene before him had not disappeared while he wasn't looking.

Since it was Ichigo out of the two who usually made sure that his little lover cleaned after himself, didn't roll in his own filth and ate at least relatively healthy food, it was only natural that the small joy which Toushiro derived from the times when the man was away, was to do the exact opposite of what the carrot-top always insisted he did. As a result, the room could probably make a nun cry if she saw it. There was practically no semblance between the tidy space that Ichigo had left upon his take off and the horror which was currently stretching before the white-haired youth – just remnants of the pragmatically maintained order that had once ruled over the place...

"Why didn't we get a maid, again?" Aw, that's right. Because last time Kurosaki had _done_ that, a lot of personal underwear and other small belongings had ended up sold online for legendary prices. _One_ very unfortunate incident - and this is how distrust is born.

If he had to be really honest with himself, Toushiro would have to admit that the living-room didn't really look half as bad as his overactive imagination was making it seem. True, there were pizza boxes full with cigarette fags on every surface in the near vicinity, Chinese leftover smudged across the low table in the center, overflowing ashtrays in curious locations all around the place and clothes and empty bottles right about everywhere you looked, but most of the worry actually came from the knowledge that Ichigo was always so damn fastidious about his apartment and how it looked. The boy had intended to put things into order several days before his lover came back from his business… trip… thing, yet no matter how hard he had tried to propel himself into executing this magnificent plan, he had failed the moment he began imagining where he needed to start to get things done. His will was too weak when it came to tidying up and he had dutifully tried to explain this to Kurosaki on plenty of occasions – he needed his creative chaos to spawn chef d'ouvres and no amount of clothes folding or coffee pads could change that. Now, just a few hours before Ichigo popped on the doorstep with his personal version of 'Honey, I'm home!', Toushiro was facing a jungle rather than a room as well as a growing need to smoke.

_No. Get your act together._

Taking a deep breath in to calm his inner world – which, honestly, was on the brink of a panic attack – the boy nodded to himself and headed for the kitchen, emerging several seconds later with an enormous trash bag. With determination that he rarely showed regarding anything else, the boy proceeded to collect what he had personally thrown around the apartment, emptying ashtray after an ashtray and harvesting empty cigarette packets from atop, underneath and behind sofas, couches and cupboards. The endeavors were accompanied with lots of grumbling and cursing, but Toushiro continued his working anyways, knowing that if he couldn't meet his lover with a squeaky clean apartment, he could at least show that he had tried to achieve some form of tidiness... That he was going perfectly well on his own and that the model didn't need to worry about anything when he was away from the city…

…Which was a bit too often, nowadays, Hitsugaya noticed with a sigh, pondering whether to smoke first and move the table and chairs back to their original places later, or do things in the opposite order, with a bit more motivation to finish his job more quickly. He opted for the first alternative – again, because his will was weak when it came to cleaning up – and with a small huff, pulled a half-empty cigarette pack from the pocket of his loose grey sweatpants. Tucking one of the poisonous sticks between his lips, he put the carton container of his precious addiction back where it belonged, and lit up the fag, feeling strangely accomplished now that he could taste the tobacco on his tongue, even when all he had done was collect the garbage that had been rolling around the past week and a half. Dragging his load to the corridor, he bent down before the front door and tied up the neck of the now full trash bag, hauling it on his shoulder with another inarticulate grumble. He didn't forget to put a baseball hat and a pair of sunglasses on as he slipped his sock-clad feet into his shabby sneakers near the threshold and proceeded outside the apartment building and into the vast open, where cars were hooting, people were staring and paparazzi were charging from every corner.

The past few months Ichigo's rating had shot sky-high, his popularity aided not only by the photo sessions that he was snapping regularly for different clothes brands and the endless list of ads that had his name and face imprinted on them, but also because he had begun showing up as a co-host or jury member for one or two episodes in several popular TV shows. As far as Toushiro knew – and, interestingly enough, he didn't know much, because his lover rarely talked about his plans and ambitions lest he jinxed them – there were good chances the strawberry could get his own program to lead if he played his cards right. The result was that the media was eating up every findable speculation and idea about their ginger star without even chewing. Figuratively speaking.

The reporter assaults, which had previously been annoying, but still relatively bearable, had turned into a constant terror that could strike at any moment, at any place. There was little that these people wouldn't resort to and the dirt was seeping online and on paper in piles almost as tall as the ones that spoke with pride and awe of the carrot-top's success. Ichigo didn't seem affected by the bullets that were being shot at his back, and at home he mostly just refused to speak about it, but Toushiro knew it still frustrated his boyfriend to see his name involved in stories which he had never heard of and in which he had never participated. Sometimes, at the oddest, most unexpected moments – perhaps when the load was just too much or the effort to swallow the gossip were causing him trouble – Ichigo would simply smile a rare, sad little smile, and thank the younger male for refusing to read any yellow press and watch shows of the same kind. The boy honestly didn't know why he would deserve any gratitude after the kindness that the model had showed him – after all, he was well-aware of how far reporters could go to get their scandal; he wasn't going to let some idiot with a camera and a hand twitch ruin their relationship with his scribbles. He was better than that. _They_ were better than that.

Which most certainly didn't mean that he wasn't supposed to be careful, especially since his connection to Ichigo was making him just as much of a target as the carrot-top himself. Innocent hand holding and hugging aside, there were a lot of things that Toushiro would rather not share with the world, and after the carrot-top had told him on one occasion (his large tan fist muffling a fit of laughter that the boy refused to appreciate) that there was a picture of him asleep on the model's shoulder in the opera house and then one where he was surreptitiously pinching his taller lover's butt in the middle of the street, the artist had decided he was at least going to make an effort to remain _somewhat_ incognito. Hence – hat and glasses.

When he came back home without the trash bag, Hitsugaya's cigarette was halfway finished and he was feeling slightly restless. Determined not to pollute the apartment anymore (or at least till Ichigo came home and congratulated him with hot, steamy sex on cutting back on the tobacco sticks) he slipped his shoes off and padded towards the still opened window, leaning over it as he idly released rolls and rolls of white, curly smoke. His mind drifted momentarily to the painting that he was currently working on back at his own apartment and the side of his mouth curled up in one of those dreamy little smiles that always came up whenever he allowed such images to emerge in his consciousness. The half-painted canvas was his most recent artistic obsession, and when he wasn't mourning over his growing Ichigo-deprivation, he was spending his time hidden those 6 blocks away from here, bottled up in the beautiful art studio in which he had transformed one of the rooms, and drawing dots, lines and stripes till out of the previously bleak white surface, there rose a phoenix. With the threat of several long hours of cleaning looming menacingly over him, the itch to skip to his own flat and layer a few more shades and shapes, was becoming almost irresistible. Nowadays he worked with brushes and pencils just as much as he did with graffiti cans and empty walls. It mostly depended on what Kyouraku had found for him and to what terms and conditions he had to agree for the particular contract. He was just as willing to work on a reserved landscape as he was thrilled to massacre the front of some boring edifice, as long as he didn't get sued for it and someone told him he wasn't half bad. Income, salaries, prizes – none of those really mattered, not when he could practice what he loved the most without anyone chiding him for that or making him feel like a lowlife just because he didn't draw black squares. He had his own style, his own understanding of the world, and being allowed to express himself freely and sincerely, was about the greatest gift he could ever hope for…

…Although, Kyouraku, of course, had much higher dreams to follow now that he had got his hands on someone who he both enjoyed working with and who was famous and talented enough to reach further than the front steps of a the local gallery. With the nation craving to see, perceive, _connect to_ something original and liberated, something that thrilled the heart just as much as it excited the mind, there was a lot of need for an original and independent soul to enter the starchy circles of artists that was currently claiming to be on the top. There was youth and variety in Toushiro's creations – one that he didn't pressure himself into building up, but which came up naturally and easily, and won younger, brighter fans to his side - and with those factors present, it was no wonder that the manager seemed hell-bent on signing something that would give Hitsugaya a little more than a couple of fleeting chances to show his skills. Long story short, Kyouraku was fighting to get the boy permanent rights over the east wing of one of the new galleries that would soon open in town.

Toushiro had to be mad not to adore the idea – it would mean that he would be allowed to do whatever he pleased with the three interconnected rooms that he would be getting, he would get to stuff them with whatever number of paintings he wanted, in an atmosphere he single-handedly picked and approved of. What was there not to like about all this? His projects were scattered around the city, hard to find if you didn't know where to look, and people needed a place where they could go and be sure that they would be able to find works that had his name scribbled in the bottom corner. As funny as it sounded, if it all worked out at the end, he might actually start regarding himself as an actual painter – not just a joke that real professionals laughed at over a cup of coffee…

Finishing up his cigarette, Toushiro remembered not to throw it through the window and sullenly pulled back, finding the trash can and flipping the fag there. With a longing glance at the inviting weight of the package that was resting in his pocket, he let out a long, miserable sigh and walked back into the living-room, preparing for the horrors that would certainly await him there.

The next few hours went by in putting things back to their places, collecting dirty clothes, doing the laundry, vacuuming and wiping out whatever unidentified substances had gathered on the furniture. He smoked three more times, resisting heroically for as long as he could before he picked up the tobacco stick, and by the time he was finished with everything, he was rather happy with both his achievement at cleaning and not fogging the premises again. He hit the shower with a grumble, noting that he probably had about an hour before his lover came home, and he took his sweet time washing his hair and body. As he tipped his head back and enjoyed the warm drops that rained on his face, Toushiro couldn't help the long, content moan that left his lips. In such moments, when he let go of his mind and allowed it to wander aimlessly in whatever direction it pleased, he was always surprised to see how easy his thoughts tangled up around the image of his lover's face and stayed there to caress the fantasy. Even if it wasn't anything particular, the memory of Ichigo's smile, his warm eyes and smooth lips, was the easiest way for him to relax and let the tension roll off his shoulders.

Or perhaps the easiest way to get hard. Depended on how you liked to look at it.

In fact, it had been during one such lonely shower, when his lover was out on a trip to some other county, that Toushiro had realized for the first time that he was in love. At first the thought had frightened him, making him shoot out of the bathroom at a lightning speed and curl into the bed among a sea of towels and blankets in which he positively looked just as lost as he felt on the inside. The emotion wasn't unfamiliar to him and he was a bit surprised that he hadn't noticed it earlier, but it was the apprehension that he would be hurt again, tossed aside or played like a fool, that made him ponder over whether he should even allow this relationship to continue and dig into deeper, harder soil. A break-up seemed so easy… Just a few harsh words, some half-hearted explanation, and he would be out of the door with the suitcases and his train ticket to Karakura squeezed in his trembling hand… But the more he thought about running away, the angrier he got at himself and his own weaknesses. He realized that all this time he had left Ichigo to lead the way in everything they did, and even when he had assumed his role of a careless, blunt kid who was trying to pretend to be an adult, he had still forced all the big decisions in his lover's arms, too scared he might err to take a chance that could affect them both. He didn't know how he was going to do it, when he would find the strength, the right moment to make his move, but he was determined he would be the one to say it first this time… To show that he cared enough to swallow his insecurities and put his feelings into words, for both of their sakes…

That was about five months ago. Talk about slow.

Letting out a small sigh, Toushiro reached to stop the water flow, standing in the cabin all dripping wet for a few moments longer, before sliding the door open and shuddering at the gust of cold air that nudged through the fading steam. Wrapping a towel around his waist and rubbing one in his hair, the boy slowing exited the bathroom and navigated absently towards the bedroom, emerging several minutes later with a fresh white T-shirt and a new pair of grey sweatpants, with which he then flopped down in front of the TV, half-wondering if he had the patience to watch anything.

He only had about five minutes to think before the doorbell rang and he was on his feet, rushing towards the door.

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**_A/N: Sequels always get less readers than the original story, but I'm still hoping, so... Review, please. :)_**

**__****_P.S. I have renewed the poll since there's been too many stories recently and a lot has changed since the first poll was created._**


	2. Chapter 2

_**A/N: Well, sorry for the long wait, but nothing to really do about that. Life happened. Looks like not just to me, these days, am I right? I hope people are still interested in this, cuz as I said, I have a lot of plans for it. Things will be getting interesting from the next chapter on.**_

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Black-and-White

Chapter 2

Ichigo knew he should've got used to the greeting by now – any man in his shoes probably would've done just that after so many trips and returns home – but nevertheless he let out a small huff of surprise when the door was yanked open and he had to drop his suitcases to the floor in order to catch his boyfriend when the latter all but threw himself in the carrot-top's arms. _Oh, Jesus… _He stumbled backward from the impact, hands grasping onto Toushiro's ridiculously narrow waist as he once again found himself amazed by the smallness of his lover's body – so childishly thin and fragile despite the pigheaded attitude that its owner still insisted on displaying on an everyday basis. The sound of a door slamming somewhere in the distance denoted that a neighbor had probably hurried to sneak into their apartment before they were forced to witness anything that they couldn't handle, and Ichigo had to suppress a fond little snicker at the visual picture the thought ignited in his mind. He could handle a little bad publicity, he decided as he nuzzled against the messy mop of damp white hair beneath his chin, he could handle _all_ the bad publicity in the world for a moment like this. Because as he stood in the middle of that corridor, holding the one person in the entire world who could equally well drive him nuts and make his heart swell, he realized that suddenly and inexplicably a particle inside of him that he hadn't even realized had been misplaced, quivered and fit right where it belonged. The light, fresh scent of something floral and clean enveloped him like a blanket and he closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, appreciating the sweet undertone of his boyfriend's fragrance now that it wasn't completely outweighed by the heavy smell of cigarettes.

"Toushiro-"

"Shut up!" the boy tried to yell as he buried his face in the taller male's neck, though the order sounded curiously like a whimper, and it was additionally ruined by the fact that Toushiro could barely stand on his tiptoes in order to reach the height needed for him to plant his nose where he wanted. The awkward and helpless behavior made Ichigo's lips curl into an involuntary smile as he realized that his lover was doing the exact same thing that he was – breathing, as deeply and as avidly as he could from the flavor of the very same body he had been missing for too many weeks now.

"Shhh, it's okay…" The carrot-top tightened his hold around Toushiro's hips, noticing with a pang of worry how the boy immediately tensed (perhaps afraid that he would be pushed away sooner than he was ready to let go) before he hoisted the thinner frame a few inches up, just enough to allow the shorter male's sock-clad feet to land on his shoes and lessen their vertical difference. Once that was done, he proceeded to slowly rub his palms up and down Hitsugaya's spine in a sort of childish comfort that always seemed to work its magic on his diminutive lover. He could feel the warm skin under the baggy cotton shirt, and the gentle outline of the bones that were now protruding more sharply due to Toushiro reaching up to get to Ichigo's shoulder level. It was a peaceful moment. It didn't matter that they weren't moving further than the threshold, or that the carrot-top was yet to carry his suitcases into the apartment, for these were a few sweet minutes that they could spare from their logical, every day existence, if only to allow themselves to enjoy each other for a bit.

"Hey…" Ichigo lifted his hand to thread a set of fingers through his boyfriend's damp hair. "Hey, aren't you gonna look at me, hm? Come on, I've missed you like crazy. I want to see your beautiful face, and that permanent grumpy expression, and all the other bonuses that you come with. Is it too much to ask for?"

He had hardly finished his last sentence before Toushiro was pulling back and then latching onto his lips like a hungry little leech. The first impulse of the kiss was harsh and rough, hardly about the physical sensation itself as it was for the reassurance that it was all real. That it was happening. Toushiro's fingertips were barely touching him, splayed gently across his jaw and neck without restricting or guiding it, and his back was a beautiful arch under Ichigo's touch – just as exquisite and graceful as he remembered it. As he felt an impatient tongue sneak out to lick fully at his mouth, the carrot-top reached down to squeeze the small tight ass through his boyfriend's sweats, discovering a second later that the satisfaction he gained from the action was painfully insufficient after the endless time they'd spent apart.

"God, you're delicious…"

Where in any other case Toushiro would've probably rolled his eyes and swatted the back of his head for such comment, he now moaned deep in his throat and parted his lips, allowing the taller male to take full control over what they were doing. It always felt strange and yet incredibly exhilarating when the boy did that, because such complete and unconditional surrender simply didn't fit the rebellious image that the smaller male had built for himself. Not that Ichigo minded the mulish manner of speaking and acting which his lover tended to manifest – quite the opposite, the carrot-top found the other's behavior to be quite entertaining to deal with most of the time – but in moment like this, when reason didn't matter and neither did keeping a face, catching a glimpse of the sweet, affectionate kid that resided underneath Toushiro's stony surface was indeed like unearthing a gem. And what a gorgeous gem that was if one had the eyes to look…

"You're not mad, are you?" Ichigo whispered the question almost into the kiss, barely having the strength to pull away an inch and wait for Toushiro to respond.

"Mad about what?" the smaller male sounded dizzy, his hands now clinging to the front of the model's shirt as he licked at his swollen lips and scowled adorably in confusion. Ichigo found himself chuckling at the sight and squeezing the smaller figure closer to his own as he rocked them both back and forth a bit. He pressed his mouth to his lover's one again – this time more demurely, more calmly than before – and then proceeded to just hold Toushiro in his arms for a while. The boy seemed perfectly fine with that, his silhouette melting into Ichigo's one with such ease and trust that the carrot-top had to struggle not to clutch any tighter, somehow afraid of what would happen when he let go. He could feel Toushiro's heartbeat, throbbing closely to his own one, and it made his own heart clench curiously as he recalled the brief glimpse of wetness he had seen in his lover's eyes moments before their mouths had met. For the whole period of time that they had been together, not once had he seen Toushiro cry openly about anything, but it was moments like this one, glimpses of vulnerability that the smaller male struggled to hold back with all might, that made the model's whole being ache with tenderness and emotion.

And more. So much more than he could ever describe.

He wanted to say that it would be okay, that he was there and he wouldn't leave. But the words never made it out and he closed his eyes for a second, feeling like a complete idiot, because what was the point in such comfort when he never knew when he'd have to pack the suitcases again and take off on another trip.

"I don't know. Feels like you should be mad about something," the carrot-top confessed with an uneven smile.

"Well, I can't bother to be right now, but if you would be so kind to wait, I'll find a reason to be later on."

"Is that a promise?" Ichigo teased, feeling Toushiro shake with a brief laughter.

"Promise."

"Well, I'll hold you to that," the carrot-top muttered, leaning to peck the crown of his boyfriend's head with a grin. The smaller male shifted at that, adjusting himself more comfortably as he allowed his arms to circle the model's torso.

"Do you want to go inside?" Toushiro asked quietly as he rubbed his nose deeper into Ichigo's chest, like a kitten, subconsciously seeking warmth and care. "I don't think we should stand this long in the corridor."

"You are the one who wouldn't let me in my own flat."

"Not true," came the protest in a well-practiced deadpan. "You make it sound like I missed you, and I didn't miss you at all. I'm just eagerly awaiting my present."

"Is that so?" Ichigo taunted, his body rumbling with laughter. "Well, then… better get started on your presents, right?"

Before Toushiro could get an idea of what his lover meant, the carrot-top had bent down and swiftly hoisted the smaller body up, smirking under his breath again when the boy yelped and promptly clung to him tighter. The suitcases Ichigo more or less kicked into the apartment, uncaring to what happened to them as he closed the door shut behind himself and locked it, his next destination quite obviously clear both for him and from what he could gather from Hitsugaya's wide eyes – for the young painter as well.

They made it through the apartment completely occupied with their own thoughts and activities as Ichigo deftly maneuvered between furniture and more furniture, abandoning his footwear somewhere in the process while Toushiro violently struggled to extract him from his jacket even when the carrot-top's arms were busy holding his smaller body up. They reached the bedroom in record time and Toushiro didn't even get the chance to protest as he was unceremoniously dropped onto the mattress.

* * *

_**You can find a link to the missing scene in my profile page.**_

* * *

"You don't want to see your present?"

"Do you honestly have any desire whatsoever to move off the bed?"

Ichigo chuckled, reaching to tuck a lock of hair behind Toushiro's ear, the gesture slow and easy as he contemplated his boyfriend's face, the lazy smile across his lips, and the manner in which he had folded his elbow and laid his head in the curve instead of using a real pillow. They were stretched across the bed on their sides, each facing the other, with no clothes left, and no blankets apart from their own skin to protect them from the cool air. Ichigo had no idea how long he had spent just kissing and holding his lover once they had both come, but the sun seemed to have dunked to the borderline between a late afternoon and approaching evening, the light dripping ashen and scraggy through the window as a sort of soothing final touch to a beautiful oil-painting. The scent of complications and distance was long gone, and all of a sudden nothing seemed hard or out of reach without the wall of hundreds of miles between them.

They were fine.

They were going to be fine.

"I feel so boneless after what you just made me do, you bastard," Toushiro added, more as a half-teasing afterthought than anything else, and the carrot-top bit back a snicker, still too lost in the afterglow of their previous activities to even be able to express proper amusement. _Is this what's it like to be happy and stupid altogether, huh? _He eyed the person that was splayed so shamelessly before him and wished for a second that he had a little bit more eloquence, a little bit more imagination and taste to make this moment timeless for both of them. But, alas, he had never been good at expressing what he felt and saw in words, as nothing seemed to fit or illustrate the exact condition of his heart. Yes, there were a lot of clichéd things he could _try _to say about the way the light played across Toushiro's smooth flesh, how the shadows dipped here and there, how every single arch and line painted perfection in its purest form… but what did those things matter, when he knew better than anyone the thousands of layers in which Toushiro could be beautiful?

So beautiful, it fucking _hurt_ to be around him sometimes…

"I see your point," the carrot-top muttered softly, moving his hand down the length of Toushiro's naked body, slowly, idly, like one might appreciate a sculpture, till his fingers finally came to rest in the curve of the pale hip. He could see the skin prickle ever so slightly under the barely-there touch, but he didn't comment on it like he usually would, just basking into the moment that he seemed to so rarely be able to enjoy these days. "It's good to be back."

"It's not like you had a choice," Toushiro mumbled with a half-shrug. "I'm like a piece of plaster on a hairy arm, huh? Can't get rid of me without pain. You _had_ to return."

Ichigo chuckled warmly at the crude comparison, shaking his head as much as he could while having it propped in his hand, elbow on the mattress below and orange hair scattered everywhere across his face. Toushiro's knack to ruin romantic settings was a part of their relationship that he had long ago got used to, though even someone as thick-headed as the white-haired boy wasn't completely immune to a bit of mushiness and sentimentalities when it all boiled down to the right time. Patience was all that was really needed, in the end.

Patience, and a bit of humour.

"I wouldn't exactly say that," Ichigo responded gently, rubbing his thumb in small circles across the pale skin of Toushiro's waist. His boyfriend merely snorted, arching one incredulous brow as he tried to fight down the small smirk that was tickling the ends of his mouth.

"Well, what would you 'exactly say', then?" Toushiro asked, blinking coyly beneath those ridiculously long lashes of his. "C'mon. Hit me with you cheesiest line."

Ichigo grinned knowingly at the challenge.

"Hmmm… Well, I would say," his eyes swiped down his boyfriend's nude body in a very obvious expression of interest and he leaned closer to the smaller male, loving the tiniest sprinkle of colour that touched Toushiro's cheekbones at the proximity. "That you are one hell of an obnoxious, untidy, disorganized parasite," his eyes glimmered impishly at the slight frown that furrowed his lover's brows and he leaned even closer still, lips hovering a kiss away from the artist's ones. "But right now I can't imagine my life without you."

_So about damn time you finally understood that, you brat._

"Oh," Toushiro uttered dumbly, the word rolling off his tongue in something of a stunned acceptance that only made Ichigo grin. Satisfied with a point well-made, he moved to seal his mouth over the pair of parted lips before him, only to halt in surprise when his lover jerked back, both the smile and the scowl suddenly all gone from his face.

"What is it?"

The answer didn't come immediately, that strange, greyish pallor that always appeared to drag a plethora of alarming news along with itself now slowly dissolving across Hitsugaya's cheeks. At the sight of the sudden change, the carrot-top hurried to pull back a bit, his gaze searching and bewildered as he tried to figure out what he had done wrong. His boyfriend's hand was on his chest in an instant, its palm pressed over the palpable thud of the model's heart in a gesture that seemed strangely fearful, like the boy was somehow looking for a reassurance that Ichigo was still there, listening, touching him.

"I-," Toushiro's voice broke and he swallowed with apparent difficulty. Ichigo noticed that the pair of usually smug emerald eyes were impossibly wide, glowing with a strange kind of inner light that seemed to singe to crisp the little bit of air that still hovered between them. "I need to tell you something."

Ichigo's chest clenched, something like worry beginning to bubble behind his ribcage as he took in the lines of anxiety and apprehension, so deeply etched in every soft feature of his lover's face. He squeezed Toushiro's hip tighter and tried to manage a soothing smile while his brain frantically fought every single crazy, paranoid idea that tried to grapple for appreciation and a seat spot at the front of his mind.

"Tell me what?" he asked dully and Toushiro's eyes ducked, the side of his mouth pulling up a bit as his fingers curled against the carrot-top's chest in an almost imploring manner.

"It's nothing bad," he hurried to say, letting out a slightly hysterically laughter when whatever it was that was bothering him took a better shape inside his mind and possibly made him rethink his own reaction. Ichigo gave up a strained breath he hadn't even realized he was holding, his shoulders visibly relaxing as he soaked up the statement like a sponge.

"Don't scare me, princess."

"Don't call me that!" Toushiro argued, but his gaze only snapped up for a moment before lowering again, his voice obviously wavering even with the minute attempt for anger. "Anyways… I just-… I wanted to tell you-…"

The blaring sound of Ichigo's mobile phone cut through the soft calmness of the room and the carrot-top's gaze snapped in his jean's directions, finding them thrown at the other end of the room where he remembered hurling them during their last make-out session. With a small, defeated sigh, he started rising off the bed, his thoughts already with the potential caller who was interrupting his peaceful times, when Toushiro grasped his forearm lightly to hold him back.

"Leave it," the boy said softly, but although there was a displeased purse in the middle of his lips, Ichigo just smiled apologetically, grabbing Toushiro's wrist to kiss at the pale knuckles before he was off halfway across the room, crouching to rummaged through his piled up clothes. A familiar voice greeted him once he pressed the device to his ear and he got to his feet, listening to the explanations and directions as he ran his fingers through his mess of a hair to loosen the knots.

"Can you email me all that?" he asked distractedly, turning around to look at the bed and let his lover know that he was trying to finish this as quickly as possible. His sheepish grin faded at the sight that met his eyes – a sea of empty crumpled sheets and a lithe, now completely standing body whose pale flesh was no longer bare to his gaze like it used to be. Toushiro's hands were already fiddling with the belt of a silky caramel-coloured night robe that effectively draped a delicate barrier between the two of them, and no matter how beautiful the fabric looked on the boy's frame, falling like a calm liquid down the length of his whole being, Ichigo found himself swallowing uneasily. Hitsugaya's back was facing him rather hostilely and whatever expression had sunk into the thin, brittle features, it was obviously not to be seen, no matter what. "Can you say that again? I'm not sure if I got everything right, but it sounds like a thick schedule. I don't really need to do all of it, do I?"

He tried to interrupt his agent when the guy started off in a long litany of reasons as to why every last bit of what he had just said was so infinitely important, but, unsurprisingly, every attempt to end the conversation failed. Instead, the model had to watch rather miserably as Toushiro very pointedly ignored him, padding barefooted to the door and disappearing in the direction of the kitchen, without even once turning to spare Ichigo a glance.

_Shit._

Biting down on his lower lip in frustration, the carrot-top considered following his boyfriend right away, but seeing as he was still on the phone, he decided the idea wasn't all that bright after all. He was forced to stand there, pacing naked around the room as the person at the other end of the line persisted on spilling strings of information in his ear as though it were the most crucial thing in the world, even if the babbling only made the unwilling listener feel extremely tired just by hearing what he was supposed to do the next few days. Once the tirade was finally all over and done with, Ichigo hung up and hastily pulled a pair of boxers on before stomping through the door to find his boyfriend's new whereabouts.

"Toushiro?"

Just as he expected, the younger male was hanging halfway over the window, blowing smoke in the rusty sunset-coloured air outside as his thin fingers balanced a freshly lit cigarette near his lips. The sight prickled something inside Ichigo more palpably than usual, causing him to frown as he took a step closer to the boy.

"I'm done talking, do you want to go back to bed?" he offered hopefully, not entirely surprised when Toushiro merely scoffed at the suggestion and just shook his head. _Of course_, Ichigo thought wearily, _why would anyone need a verbal answer_? "I'm not going through this _again_ less than half a day after I got back," he stated as calmly and as firmly as he could muster. "Please, let's just get back to what we were doing before the call, and forget all about it."

"Nobody's asking you to go through anything, alright?" Hitsugaya answered gelidly, taking a long drag from the end of his cigarette as he continued staring out of the window. "What time did you tell them you would be able to talk? It looks like the phoning spree is just starting."

As if on cue, Ichigo's cell rang again and he tucked his lips between his teeth, lifting one fist to smack it repeatedly against his forehead in frustration. That was right, he _had_ promised to be available around this time, when he should've just told them to fuck it and leave everything for tomorrow.

But no. Tomorrow didn't work.

He had things to do tomorrow.

So he picked up the phone, watching distraughtly, the way Toushiro's shoulders sagged and he leaned further through the window, his body seemingly trying to increase the distance between him and Ichigo as thought that would somehow make everything better.

It was quite a typical reaction, really. The spell was broken, they were no longer just two bare and satisfied bodies, pulling towards each other like magnets, and since they were once again very much imperfect and human, Toushiro (apparently) had every right to act like it. _Right._

Feeling uncomfortable knowing that his lover had left to spare himself exactly this kind of an experience, Ichigo swallowed a deep sigh and slowly walked into the living-room, hand once again running through his hair as he politely tried to sort out what he was being told through the receiver. His eyes fell on the suitcases – abandoned in the previous haste near the front door – and he made his way toward them, pulling the bigger one and setting it on the coffee-table while still grunting out affirmative sounds into the speaker. Balancing the phone between his chin and his shoulder, the carrot-top opened the clips on both sides and lifted the lid with care. Most of his belongings were carefully folded in every available corner of the suitcase, but although a bunch of responsibilities bounced to the front of his mind at the sight of some of the items, he overlooked everything, reaching between his shirts to pull out a small gift box. The ribbon was probably a useless decoration at this point – Toushiro wasn't even going to look at the present now, and although such behavior exhausted Ichigo to no end, he could see where his boyfriend was coming from.

So once he hung up, he made sure to turn the phone off and placed it next to his socks, convinced that he wouldn't need it the rest of the night if he played his cards right. Then he stood up and made his way back to where Toushiro was finishing his second – or perhaps third? – cigarette, bare ankles crossed in a show off casualness that simply didn't fool anyone.

"Are you done yet?" Ichigo asked softly, holding the box in his hand as he waited for Toushiro to turn around. He got the much expected huff in response.

"I could ask you the same question."

"Well, then I hope you'll give me the same answer."

That caught Toushiro's attention and he took one last drag from the poisonous stick before flicking the butt out in the street. Ichigo grimaced at the sight of that, but held back from saying anything as he knew full well the boy was most likely doing this on purpose. _Better not make this any more complicated than it already is._

"You can do whatever you like, Ichigo," the boy said quietly, though even as he uttered the words, there was that sort of bitterness in his voice that most certainly suggested otherwise. Ichigo's heart clenched at the sound of that. He knew that in his own way, Toushiro probably did mean it, did want to give his man the freedom to make whatever decisions pleased him. But that wasn't the point. Neither needed to suffer for the other one to be happy. "Talk if you have to. I'm sure I'm getting in your way of staying at the top quite enough as it is."

"That's not true."

"Alright. If you say so."

Shaking his head, the carrot-top slowly made his way to his lover, wrapping his arms around the small waist and gently turning Toushiro around till the boy was pressed up against his front with nothing but a stubbornly averted gaze to aid to his mute protest. He didn't want the shorter male to think what he knew Hitsugaya was already thinking – there were a billion things Ichigo cared about, and yes, publicity was one of them, but none of that could ever compare to what he had with Toushiro.

He just didn't know how he would ever be able to prove it.

"Look at me," Ichigo urged gently, running a soothing hand down the boy's back, over the smooth silk and the beautiful pale skin that hid underneath. "C'mon, Toushiro, stop sulking like a girl and just _look_ at me already."

He didn't get a smile as he had hoped he would at that verbal challenge, but at least his lover bothered to oblige, lifting his gaze to meet Ichigo's one through what the carrot-top suddenly noticed, were layers and layers of strangled emotion. This couldn't be just about the phone, the model found himself thinking, but although every bit of him jolted to awareness at that realization, he hurried to push his worry aside, deluding himself that, after all, his boyfriend just needed a bit more affection and pampering after their long separation.

"I'm sorry," he muttered, lifting a hand to brush a strand of hair behind Toushiro's ear. "Phone's off. No one to bother us for the rest of the evening. We can order take out, watch some sloppy romantic comedy, or do whatever you want. Is that okay?"

He saw Toushiro waver at that, his eyelids fluttering with a deep inhalation as he considered the offer, and without another moment of wonder, Ichigo took the chance to plunge down and capture the boy's lips in a soft, sweet kiss. As he had predicted, the person in his arms melted on spot, gasping into the lip-lock and then clutching at the model's shoulders as he rose to his tiptoes to meet the loving mouth that moved expertly on top of his own one. The ardent hunger that they had seemingly satisfied not so long ago, kindled anew, spreading like a blazing inferno till breathing was an ordeal and luxury that neither of the two seemed to want. Biting at his lover's lower lip, Ichigo reached under the boy's robe, pulling the belt out of the way and sneaking is arm around the supple, naked body beneath to once again feel it pressed completely against his own one.

The heat of Toushiro's skin was deliciously enticing, the flesh smooth like the very fabric that had previously concealed it, and the carrot-top groaned low in his throat as he deepened the kiss and allowed his head to clear out completely. He would never grow tired of this – of the taste, of the arousal, of the very feeling of this stunning, writhing creature that answered so passionately to every single kiss and caress – and he barely resisted the urge to move his hand lower and slip a finger inside his lover's still wet and sensitive entrance into an attempt to coax it into another round of what they had just recently finished doing.

_There'll be time for that later._

"Don't move," he whispered against Toushiro's mouth, blindly opening the box that he was still clutching in his hand to retrieve its precious content. The silver pendant was cool and sleek on his palm and he had to peer at it with one eye to be able to see what he was doing. It took him a few seconds to clasp it right, but then the jewel was finally snugly nestled around its new owner's neck and those curious teal eyes flew open, falling down on the present that Ichigo hoped would smoothen the last wrinkles of their argument. Thin, slender fingers wrapped around the pendant, turning it back and forth for a second before the hand accompanying them lifted to touch the carrot-top's cheek. Funnily enough, for a single moment Ichigo was almost sure he saw a hint of disappointment flash across Toushiro's face… But the suspicion vanished like smoke the instant Hitsugaya looked up, a soft smile adorning his lips like a gemstone of his own.

"Thank you, Ichigo, it's really beautiful," the boy muttered, leaning to peck the carrot-top's lips gratefully.

The gift really _was_ beautiful. Hanging on a thin, exquisitely wound chain that reached just below Toushiro's collarbone, the charm represented an elaborately-made silver snowflake, its rays decorated with the smallest, sand-like specks of diamonds that glinted clear and dazzling from every angle that the light fell from.

On its back, with tiny cursive letters, it was written:

_Always on my mind, no matter the distance._

And it was true.

So what more could Toushiro possible want?

* * *

**_A/N: It'll get more exciting later, promise. :) Hope you enjoyed it,leave me a few words if you please._**


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